The Ratman Knows
by VCCV
Summary: Janson knows the truth about Thomas and Newt's past, and he uses it to his advantage. An alternate movie interlude, taking place during the time between the Glader's deposit into their cell/room, and Thomas and Aris' card key adventure to the Harvest Room.


The door had no sooner slammed shut, than it flew open again. Janson stepped through the doorway, smirking. He pushed the door shut with one finger, and sauntered further in, his smirk growing as the boys backed cautiously away from him. He dismissed the others with barely a glance, but honed in on Thomas immediately.

"Thomas, Thomas, Thomas," Janson's voice was saccharine sweet. "What were you thinking?" Thomas halted his backward slide and took a solid stance instead; his chin slightly tilted up in preparation for whatever Janson had planned. "You clearly expected no one would stop you. You just assumed they would step out of your way." He moved into Thomas' personal space, his gaze creeping alarmingly around Thomas' chest and throat.

"I mean, the infamous Thomas? Surely, he could part the sea itself-if we had any left, of course." Janson gaze moved up, and he peered intently into Thomas' eyes for long moments, and then pulled back with a chuckle. "It's understandable though, why you felt you had to try. He leaned in again and whisper-spoke, "It's ingrained." He amused himself again, and lazily broke eye contact and do a full body scan, lingering on several areas that had Thomas imperceptibly squirming.

"The mental muscle memory is so strong, you couldn't even imagine failing. And it's what you do, isn't it? You protect. You lead. You demand. We comply. Really, the only time anyone else has ever gotten otherwise, is by threats."

Janson took his visual examination around Thomas' body, moving slowly behind him and leaning in to speak. "Oh, not threats to you, of course. You're the Golden Boy; the precious First Child. Touching you against your will was a one-way ticket to a crank palace." He slipped around the front again, his chest brushing against Thomas' arm on the way. Thomas couldn't conceal his flinch, and Janson's smile became more of a toothy sneer.

"But, of course, if you _agreed_ , that was something else entirely. I mean, who were we to deny the Great Thomas Edison anything?" He flapped his hand and nearly preened when not just Thomas, but the other boys flinched as well. "Ah, how rewarding it was when you asked—no, _begged_ to be punished."

"Why the shuck would anyone beg to be punished?" Minho broke his silence to interject. His awkward side step into Frypan immediately afterward, clearly showed his regret at drawing Janson's attention to himself.

"Why?" Janson's eerie grin did nothing to lighten the weight of his words."Because, if Thomas didn't beg, we'd just punish someone else. Someone he cared about." He hummed in pleasure. "It was a delicate and thoughtful process, really."

"So you blacked mailed me into asking for punishment by threatening Teresa?" Thomas finally spoke up, his voice tight with anger.

"Oh, goodness no," Janson laughed. "Teresa had many uses, but that was not one of them. She was far more Ava's pet than even you were. Rarely saw one of them without the other. You, however, travelled in _different_ circles, shall we say. You always seemed to like the more hands on approach with the experiments. You didn't like any of your 'boys' messed with. Coddled them something fierce. But, the surefire way to rile you up was one in particular."

In one fluid move, he had his pistol drawn and aimed straight at Newt's head. His eyes never left Thomas'. Newt froze in place, staring down the dark barrel of the weapon. Minho and Frypan made a quickly aborted attempt to rush Janson, but Thomas threw his arm out and growled, "No!"

"Thomas?" Minho questioned, the betrayal he felt evident in his voice.

"He'll shoot him before you get halfway there!" Thomas snapped out. "Nobody move!"

Janson leered proudly. "See? Mental muscle memory. Threaten the boyfriend, Thomas falls right in line. I bet you didn't even realize you were so protective of him, did you?"

"Boyfriend?" Frypan blurted out. "What you talking about? Teresa—"

"Teresa might as well be Thomas' sister." Janson cut him off with a glare. "Newton here was the apple of your eye, Thomas." The leer was back. "Right horny little bastards, you were. Must have caught you in every damn corner of the complex; always in each other's space, sneaking kisses, fucking, and those nauseating declarations of undying love. It was sickening, really."

Thomas and Newt exchanged slightly confused and uncomfortable glances, and Janson howled with laughter. "One carefully worded suggestion that Newt pay the price for some ridiculous infraction, and you'd belly up to the bar, boy. 'No, please! Punish me, instead. Take my rations. Let me do the dangerous jobs. Beat me, instead.' Those were some of my favorites, the beatings." His eyes slid partially shut and he practically shivered with remembered pleasure. "Now, beating the hell out of you with every painful implement I could find was fun, but even better was watching you scramble to explain to baby boy why you looked like shit. Priceless, it truly was."

He stepped in again, pushing his chest into Thomas'. "But my _very_ favorite part?" He leaned in, nearly rubbing his nose on Thomas' neck, breathing deeply as though he could smell the fear. "Oh, my favorite part was getting to inform you that helpless little Newton had caught the eye of a dirty, bad senior official. And that it was only a matter of time before he demanded Newtie join him in his barracks for a _special variable_."

He pulled back and licked his lips, "Oh, how you'd beg for my help, Thomas. I was, of course, more than willing to do so; I just had to get something for me." He snapped his teeth at Thomas, eyes dilating with excitement when Thomas shuddered. "Playing you was like writing my very own concerto. So easily manipulated, so easily led. You'd fall right in to offering the only thing you had of similar value…your own ass." He chuckled, running his finger through the air just beside Thomas' hip.

"And what a fine ass it is, Thomas. I should know." He moved so closely that his nose nearly brushed Thomas' cheek. "I've had it many, many times. You: on your back, legs in the air, pleading with me to keep Newt safe. Bent over a desk, feet scrabbling on the slick floor, promising to do anything if I'd only protect him from those awful men. Oh, and your lips wrapped around my cock, while your eyes leaked tears of gratitude as I swore to do everything in my power to prevent harm from coming to your true love." His guffaw sent waves of hot, fetid breath across Thomas' face and the full body jerk was visible to everyone in the room.

To Thomas' relief, Janson moved a step back and shrugged a shoulder. "It was a sad, sad day for all of us, my dick especially, when we got word from on high that little Newtie was up next for the Glade. Such a romantic night you two had, just before he left. I filmed it if you're interested in reminiscing." He winked. "Ended it all with more gag-worthy promises of love and devotion. He promised he'd never forget you, even with the memory wipe. You promised to be strong and watch him go until the last second." He snorted. "But the big day came, and damned if I didn't have to sedate you until he was long gone. Your ridiculous howling freaked out the rest of the subjects."

"You were the moodiest pup to ever mope those halls for weeks." He clucked his tongue. "I was getting blue balls until I finally got you convinced that I had sway over the person who assigned the variables. We had ourselves a good year or two, after that." He gave a lewd hip thrust and licked his lips again.

"Then, some damn fool decided to send Newtie-pie down the dark road of depression as a variable." He grunted with a sneer. "And that was it for the fun times. The day you found out your boy tried to commit suicide? That was the day we lost you. I knew right then, you'd never be ours again, no matter what we promised, what we did. I'm even pretty sure that was the day you started looking for the Right Arm. So, no more nookie for poor Janson," he sighed.

"I do miss your firm little ass," he added mournfully. Eyes widening comically, he gasped. "I have an amazing idea!" He jabbed a single finger into Thomas' sternum and pressed. "You could give me one last memory before we set you up in the harvesting room and completely wipe yours!" His expression turned lascivious and he let the finger drag slowly down Thomas' chest until it hung up on the waistband of his pants. "Oh, yes! It's the perfect idea." His finger dropped off of the waistband and he took a step back.

"Strip."

Thomas didn't seem to quite process the request. His eyelashes fluttered in confusion and his head tilted a bit, as though he didn't really understand what he'd just heard.

"Are you insane?" Newt spoke for the first time, his voice indignant and loud in the sudden silence. "Shuck, no! Don't you dare do it, Tommy."

The cocking of the gun brought back the heavy silence. After that, there was nothing but the hum of the lights, the scuff of a shoe on the concrete floor, and the quiet chuckle emanating from Janson's throat.

Thomas lifted the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

"Ah, there's the lovestruck little Tommyboy I loved to use." Janson cackled.

Thomas' jaw clenched as he threw the shirt onto the table beside him. He wanted to throw the shuck thing in Janson's face, but figured that could be construed as threatening. And the last thing in the world he wanted was to threaten him enough to shoot Newt. He angrily toed each shoe off, one at a time, and kicked them under the table. He hesitated with his hand on the fly of his pants, and shot a quick glance at Newt.

The other boy looked pissed beyond all measure as he glared his hatred out at Janson. He could tell Newt's jaw was clenched as well by the muscle twitching in his cheek. Absolute rage poured out of his eyes, and if looks could kill, Newt would have had Janson six feet under already. Thomas tried to catch Newt's eye, to tell him that this was fine. It certainly wasn't how he'd wanted this particular engagement to end, but literally anything was better than watching the rat-faced bastard shoot Newt.

A not-so-subtle throat clearing from Janson got Thomas back on track. He jerked the button open on his pants and slid the zipper down. Taking a deep breath, he shoved the pants off of his hips and let them pool on the ground. He watched in disgust as Janson bit his lip and flared his nostrils. Stepping out of them, he kicked them over on top of his shoes. Again he hesitated, and Janson finally dragged his eyes up to meet Thomas'.

"Oh, don't stop now, little Tommyboy," he prodded, giving a snap of his teeth in Thomas' direction. "Finish it up."

Thomas could feel the flush rise up and cover his chest, his face. His ears felt hot enough to burn. But he glanced at the gun in Janson's hand and bit the inside of his cheek. With an angry huff, he jammed his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and jerked them down to his knees. He gave in to his earlier desire and, once he'd gotten them over his feet, balled them up and threw them at Janson's face.

Janson merely laughed, catching them with ease. He put them up to his face and sucked in a deep whiff. The disgust on the faces of all the boys didn't seem to faze him, and he stuck the underwear into a side pocket. "Good boy, Thomas," he praised. "It's been a while since I got to see this pretty picture. Let me take it all in." He began a slow circle around Thomas, his eyes taking in every naked inch of the boy.

Thomas tried to stare at the wall directly in front of him. He wouldn't give Janson the pleasure of tracking him as Janson stalked him. He refused to note what was probably the horrified expressions on the faces of the other Gladers. And there was no reality in which he had the balls to stand there buck-naked and watch Newt look at him.

"Oh my, I do remember this body," Janson said. "This right here?" He poked an invasive finger into Thomas' side, directly onto a raised circular mark that Thomas had been trying to figure out ever since he'd first investigated his 'new' body in the Glade. "This was from our first time together. I wanted to mark you so you'd always remember," he simpered, and then laughed.

"I found a cigarette lighter out of one of those old cars in the lower hanger. I believe I told you Newtie-pie over there was caught stealing it, and his punishment was taking a taste of what it could do." He clucked his tongue again. "Mmm, mmm, mmm, you begged me so nice and pretty to say you'd stolen it instead. And you screamed even prettier when I held it against your side."

"You're shucking sick, man," Minho whispered.

Janson winked at the Runner and took another step around Thomas. "Ah, here it is. My signed work." He traced his finger back and forth over a white scar low on Thomas' right hip, watching the quiver of disgust roll over Thomas' flesh each time. The scar started around his hipbone in the front and curved down then up toward his butt cheek.

"Got you with a bullwhip here, boy. Bled like a stuck pig. When I saw that it made a 'J', I just couldn't let you stitch it up. You limped around for nearly two weeks with just butterfly bandages. I said Newt'd been mouthing off to Ava. That she was infuriated with him. That she was considering moving his transfer to the Glade up by several months. I said the only way she'd consider leaving the schedule as is, was if he took corporal punishment." Janson shook his head fondly. "You didn't waste a minute, got to give you kudos for that, Tommyboy. You had your ass naked and up against a wall so fast, I didn't even realize you'd already shoved the whip in my hand."

In the absolute silence that followed, Newt's swallowed sob was audible enough to make Thomas cringe. He ducked his head in shame at his apparent stupidity. Janson's hand painfully pinched his chin, forcing his head back up. "Now, don't you be ashamed, Tommyboy. Okay, I mean, I _was_ pretty obvious. And only an idiot would have let me bruise him up, break his bones and fuck him stupid on a weekly basis. But, hey! You really never were that smart, were you?"

Janson's eyes roved over Thomas' face, taking in the flaming hue of embarrassment, the sheen of tears in his eyes, the slight quiver in his lip, even as he stubbornly clenched his lips together. "Goddamn, how I hated you, you spoiled, entitled, shitty little bastard," he breathed. "Every drop of blood you shed, every whimper you made, every time I _made_ you beg for my cock…I got to take back a little of my own dignity."

He let go of Thomas' chin and sank a hand deep into his hair instead, jerking Thomas' head back, baring his throat. "I was made to feel _very_ undignified in that cafeteria, Thomas. I'm gonna need some of that back, you little bitch."

Janson used the handhold he had on Thomas' hair to slam the boy's face down onto the table. Before Thomas could react, Janson had moved behind him and used his own crotch to shove Thomas further up onto the table, until his toes were barely touching the ground and his torso from face to hips was pinned onto the cold metal.

"Now, Thomas," his chest heaved in anticipation. "I'm not gonna lie to you, anymore. Newt didn't do a damn thing for you to rescue him from this time. But you're gonna let me do this anyway. Why? Because unless I see your blood, my finger's gonna get really itchy, and I'm gonna need to see his. Do we understand each other, Tommyboy?"

Thomas tried to squirm away, but Janson's hand on his head and body weight on his back had him pinned neatly. A quick tightening of Janson's fingers in his hair, and Thomas' head was picked up and slammed back onto the table. "I _said_ …do we understand each other?"

The room swam a bit as Thomas nodded, slipping his head to the side to get the pressure off his nose.

"Yes," he croaked.

"Oh, good." Janson leaned in and licked a long line up Thomas' neck to his forehead. "I've been waiting to do this again for a long, long time." He pulled his hand out of Thomas' hair and reached for his own pants.

The door slammed open again and Janson roared his displeasure, yanking his aim off of Newt, and centering it on the head of the three-man detail that barged into the room. The men pulled up short and their hands went up instantly.

"What?" Janson screamed.

"Uh…Sir?" the lead man stuttered.

"What. The. _Fuck_. Do you want?" Janson bit off angrily.

"Chancellor Ava, Sir? She's on the flat trans? In the Harvest Room?" The man's terror turned each piece of information into a question.

"And?" Janson bared his teeth.

"And, she demands to speak to you immediately, Sir," the man on the right jumped in. "She's quite upset, sir, and stressed the 'immediately' part very vigorously…and repeatedly. Sir."

"God _damn_ it!" Janson shoved Thomas off the table and kicked him squarely in the gut when he landed. "Fine!" he screamed. "I will be back, Tommyboy," he snarled at the curled up form on the floor. "And you'd better not have put a single fucking piece of clothing on when I am!"

He launched another kick into Thomas' ribs before stepping over his body and shoving the men out of the doorway. The men looked around the room with wide eyes, and then carefully backed out, shutting the door behind them. The clank of the lock falling into place signaled the end of the encounter.

A moment later, the vent beneath Thomas' bed clanged out into the center of the floor and a lithe form rolled out from under the bed. Newt launched himself at Thomas, placing his body between the naked boy and the newcomer. Minho chose the more forceful route and had the intruder up in the air dangling by his neck in seconds.

"Wait—" The boy tried to wheeze words out, but Minho just squeezed harder.

"Minho, let him go." Thomas spoke from his place on the floor. "It's Aris. He's with us."

Minho looked suspiciously at the boy hanging from his hands, but slowly did as Thomas directed. "What the shuck is going on, here," he demanded.

Aris pried Minho's fingers off of his throat and rubbed it gingerly. "We have to get out of here, Thomas," he said. "I used the key card you slipped me? They're planning on harvesting your group next."

"Yeah, we got that," Thomas sat up, Newt hovering over him every second. "Throw me my clothes?" He asked Newt, still refusing to make eye contact. Newt glared at him, but handed him his clothing none-the-less. In less than a minute, Thomas was fully clothed and on his feet. "Fry, get that bedsheet off and tie the door shut. We're going to need every second we can get."

Frypan moved to the bed, Winston followed to help. Minho continued to eye Aris suspiciously and Newt to glare at Thomas. Thomas just stared at his feet. "We need to get going," he addressed his shoes. "Aris will lead us out. Minho, you go next. Then Frypan, Winston, and Newt. I'll take the back."

Aris nodded and swung himself down under the bed. The others followed quickly, but Newt stopped Thomas when they were alone. "We will talk about this, Tommy," he promised. "Both what you did for me before, and what you were about to do for me now."

"Newt, I—"

Newt lunged forward and silenced him with his lips. It wasn't pretty, or sweet. It wasn't hot or wet. It felt like coming home, however, and for both, it took their breath away. Newt pulled back and they stared for a moment into each other's eyes. Then, Newt nodded and hit the ground, rolling under the bed to the vent entrance.

Thomas shook the sense back into his head, and followed with a tiny smile.


End file.
